to feel for the plate, then use the fork. They made me guess what I was having. Sort of a game.
My parents had seen me eat the night before. I'd warned them I was messy.
"I made one of your favorites." A bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich. "And rice pudding, with raisins. Ice cream and chocolate-chip cookies for dessert."
I'm sure Timothy had watched me eat, seen me spilling food down my chest, but he'd never said a word.
Mother said, "Oops, some bacon came out."
"I'll find it," I said. I felt like yelling. It was in my lap.
Sitting down, Mother said, "Henrik called just before we left for Panama. He'd heard about you on the radio. He couldn't believe you'd been rescued."
That was Henrik all right. Always difficult to convince. I'd thought about Henrik van Boven now and then on the cay.
"He's really a true friend," my father said. "He took it hard when he learned you were missing."
"He wants to know when he can come over," Mother said.
I hesitated. I wasn't quite ready for Henrik. He'd want to know about every second, minute, and hour since last April.
"Let me set the clinic appointment first," my father said.
I nodded. They'd talked to the navy doctors about my problem.
The sandwich tasted great; I hadn't had a BLT since sitting at this same table months ago, in another life. A life I'd never have again.
Soon I groped my way upstairs, remembering when I'd taken them two at a time, up or down; then I turned into my bedroom, which was opposite the one belonging to my parents.
In my own room I was more certain of myself, knowing where everything was: the bed, the desk, the bureau, the closet, the bookshelves. I'd already been told that nothing had been touched since the morning we'd departed on the
Hato.
I felt around. Everything was still in place, as they'd said.
I sat down on the edge of the bed, wondering what to do with myself. A moment later there was a thump, and then Stew Cat rubbed along my leg, purring. He was as lost as I was.
"Is there anything we can get you?"
My mother had followed me up. Maybe that's what she'd do from now on. Follow me everywhere.
I shook my head, looking toward the open door.
That whole first day and night at home I felt as if I didn't belong. On the cay I'd always had things to do, just to survive. Chores that had meaning. Here, I felt useless.
During the night I found myself missing the wind rustling in the thatched roof of the hut; missing the splash of the usually gentle surf; missing Timothy.
Here I was, secure in my own bed at last and not wanting to be there.
I asked Timothy, "What's wrong with me?"
There was no answer.
***
The next day Henrik van Boven visited. He'd also passed another birthday since I'd last seen him: he'd turned twelve, too. I sat on the front steps with Stew, waiting for him.
To me, he'd always looked very Dutchâstraw-colored hair, moon face, and body on the chubby side. The van Bovens lived about seven blocks away. Henrik's father was city director of public works, and Henrik often sounded like his father, in charge of everything. Yet I liked him anyway; we'd had fun together.
Almost the moment I heard the gate squeak, he said, "You look different."
I knew I did. Still sun baked.
"And you're blind."
As if I didn't know it!
Laughing, I said, "Hi, Henrik."
"You're blind! That's what the newspaper said. Blind! Is that the cat?" Same old Henrik.
I said "Yes" to both questions.
By now he was no more than three feet away. Then I knew he'd sat down beside me. His voice came from the right. "Will you always be blind?"
"I hope not."
"All right, tell me everything."
"You said you read the newspapers."
"Yeah, but they always leave a lot of good stuff out."
I started with the torpedoing of the
Hato
and the raft, thinking I should just write it down on paper and hand it out to anyone who asked. People always had an idea being shipwrecked was like living on Robinson Crusoe's island.
When I told him about Timothy, he asked, "Why'd he